A Simple Fetch Quest

The woods are dark.

I step through the shadows of the ancient trees, shadows so deep in places that my eyes can't penetrate them. There's a rustling from those shadows, nudging at my fight or flight instincts. The smell of petrichor lingers in the air, underscored by mildew. It's so dark and perpetually damp that I suspect the smell never fades.

The guild master warned me not to take this job. Three others had set out on this same quest within the last week, and none of them had returned. The local guild had reached out to the capital branch for aid, but no one had responded yet.

I thought he was overreacting, being overly cautious. I grew up in the shadow of woods like these. I knew how easy it was to lose your way, turned around and disoriented among the nearly-identical trees and bushes, especially once you hit the end of the known paths.

This was merely a fetch quest, after all. Go into the woods and bring back some heart of the woods. The small, white flowers were found only in the deepest parts of the forest where the shade was darkest. Their medicinal uses were numerous, but they were difficult to find. The flowers were delicate and airy, their sprigs hidden under shrubs and fallen trees.

It was no wonder the prior fools had never returned. Clearly, they had no clue how to navigate a forest this dense. I have full confidence in my experience and skills.

I hum to myself as I work my way through the trees and brush. The sun occasionally breaks through the canopy, dappling the ground with patches of light between the shadows.

By midday, I reach the inner recesses of the woods. No light breaks through anymore, and the only undergrowth consists of plants that thrive in the shade. This is where I'll find what I seek.

I break out my lantern and begin to hunt in earnest. The buds are no larger than a fingernail, easy to miss in the dimness.

Success! I spy a small white speck among the dark green. It's a single sprig, the flowers dotting its vertical length like foam. I excitedly grasp the plant, plucking it from the ground.

I hear a loud rustling to my right and catch the faintest hint of a moving shadow as I whip my head around.

The usual predators roam these woods, although they don't generally attack humans. I stay on alert as I continue to search for more flowers. The bounty is per flower, so the more I can find, the more I can line my pockets for the coming winter. I'll be able to spend the winter somewhere warm for once instead of freezing my fingers and toes off questing.

I spot another flash of white across the clearing and make my way to it. As I bend over, a distinctly human shape flashes through my peripheral vision. I stand up quickly, drawing my sword as I do.

There's nothing there. I remain still, listening to the breeze rattle the branches above me.

They say the heart of the woods are guarded by wood elves, that they consider them sacred. That their theft is punishable by death. I feel a bead of sweat trace down my temple, and I shake my head impatiently.

What nonsense! Stories to frighten gullible children and keep them from getting lost in the woods, nothing more. More likely, the shadow is all too human, another adventurer trying to steal my prize.

I hang my lantern from a nearby branch to free my left hand, keeping my sword in my right. I begin to bend over again when I hear a whistling through the air.

I spin rapidly, leading with my sword, and manage to strike the arrow down before it pierces my chest. That was close. I follow the arrow's trajectory back into the trees above me, peering intently into the shadows, listening for any further rustling.

The air is still again. Where the hell are they? How many are there? How are they masking themselves?

I dash quickly to the largest tree in the clearing, putting my back against it. It should provide cover and protection, narrowing possible angles of attack. I wait, my eyes scouring the trees.

Minutes pass, one after another. I lose track of them. Nothing.

I finally look down at my feet and spot another flower. I carefully bend my knees, keeping my torso upright in case of attack.

As my fingers grasp the flower, I feel the knife enter my back, impossibly coming from the direction of the tree trunk behind me. I spin, trapping the attacker's arm against me, hoping they've missed my kidneys and other vital spots.

I come face to face with my assailant at last.

Their skin is rough and knotty, like an old pine. Their hair is the deep green of pine needles and coarse. Their eyes are the same deep green. They wrest their arm from my grasp, tearing open my wound further. Then, before my eyes, they sink back into the tree trunk in front of me.

I quickly realize my error, shock and horror overtaking me as my lifeblood spills onto the damp ground.

My assailants weren't in the trees; they were the trees.

I'm dizzy, and my vision begins to dim. I know I'm bleeding out. I cast about wildly, looking for an open space, but the trees are everywhere.

The glow of my lantern catches my eye. I make a break for it as numerous figures emerge from the trees around me, their wooden features snarling in anger.

My fingers brush the lantern's edge, knocking it towards the ground. At least I'll take them with me, I think as I collapse.

A rusty brown hand catches the lantern handle just before it touches ground. Two carven lips blow out the flame. The last thing I see is hundreds of green eyes glinting in the fading light.